


Everything About You

by reapertownusa



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bondage, Humiliation, M/M, Non Consensual
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-27
Updated: 2010-07-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean has something to prove to his younger self.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Everything About You

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Non-con that technically qualifies as self-harm, a pile of angst the size of Mt. Everest, humiliation and light bondage. 
> 
> Author’s Note: Thanks so much to fireffly for the beta! Written for spn_blindfold prompt - _There's an icon floating around on LJ somewhere that's a shot of the two Deans arguing across a table and the words: "Now stop talking, put on a pair of panties, and make out with yourself" over it. That's what I want, only instead of "making out," would prefer "bend Dean over a table with hands cuffed behind his back and fuck senseless." (Future!Dean did have Dean in handcuffs at one point. JUST SAYING.) Can be consensual, dub-con, non-con, whatever!_

Dean stared down at himself a few years younger, naïve. Pathetic. A damn selfish son of a bitch. Sammy this, Sammy that. He remembered having been that man, desperate for approval that would never come, clinging to ideals that were nothing but a boat load of crap. For Sam he would have let the world burn. On the off chance of saving a few million lives he’d done just that. 

It had sounded like such a fucking fantastic idea at the time. Stick to his guns, tell the angels to shove it as far as it would go. He had been sure that he could fix this or die trying. He hadn’t really had a preference. Never had he imagined a happy ending. 

But he didn’t win, he didn’t die and he didn’t get to keep Sam. Instead he did this. He had willfully chosen the destruction of the world. One word. One fucking word out of his mouth a few years earlier and none of this would have happened. Civilization would still be in tact, billions of people would still be alive. 

Instead the dead were the lucky ones and every remaining human had to suffer in the world he had made. And that cocky little shit passed out on the floor could change that. He could still fix this, but he wouldn’t. The bastard would let them all die, just like he had, because he was him and he wasn’t strong enough. No matter what he tried to prove, how hard he tried to succeed, he would always fail. 

The door to his cabin was locked as he walked over and nudged the stripped down version of himself. A pretty face and a damn fine ass – it was all he really was. Inside he was just an empty shadow of Dad, Sam and Mom. Even Alastair’s ghost played more of a role in what he was than he did. 

His younger self groaned, slowly coming to. He looked dazed and confused – weak. Gradually his own eyes blinked up at him before the younger man looked down at himself. Bare skin shivered, exposed muscles flexing against the bounds of the handcuffs as perplexed fury flowed through his younger veins. 

The only clothing his younger half adorned was Jane’s slim fitting panties or maybe they were Risa’s. No difference, they served the purpose. He could talk commonsense until he was blue in the face, but he wouldn’t listen, not even to himself. He could beat the crap out of himself until there was nothing left but crushed marrow and it wouldn’t matter. Physical pain was just background noise. So there was only this. Undeniable proof that he was worthless. 

“Are you nuts?!” the younger him shouted. 

“Do us both a favor and shut the hell up,” Dean replied. 

He grabbed a dirty rag usually reserved for cleaning guns and stepped forward to draw it as a gag over the younger man’s mouth. It would be the only way to shut him up. Dean knew that for a fact. 

Hauling his younger self up to his feet, he dragged the struggling man over to the table. With a firm shove he bent the man forward, bruising his cheek against the scarred wood. He knew exactly what words and empty threats were being muffled beneath the stained fabric of the gag. The truth was he wanted to hear them so he could refute every last ridiculous one of them, but he couldn’t risk anyone else hearing. This was between him and...himself. 

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he asked himself. “It doesn’t matter what you do. Nothing you try, no matter how hard you fight…” 

One hand gripped the cuffs behind the younger man’s back to pin him down while the other roamed over the soft panties that only barely concealed the clenching muscles below. This was him - his body. He knew how to make it good. He knew how to make it hurt. 

“You’ll always fuck it up.” 

He yanked the rear of the panties down enough to expose his own ass, angry fingers probed for entry as the younger man fought. Savoring the blind panic of his younger self, knowing he needed to be torn down to reality, he shoved in with his already swollen cock. He’d had time to get ready while his younger self was out and stripping himself down had done the job well enough. 

The dry chaffing he felt was made tolerable by the knowledge that it was burning and tearing inside the younger man. It was the least he deserved. Muffled cries of pain and rage brought a numbing sense of satisfaction. It was as if he was getting a taste of the punishment he should receive. He just wished he could feel it. 

“You think you’re too good to be Michael’s vessel?” he asked himself. 

Heavily he leaned over his own sweat slick back, mouth resting against his own ear, words dripping with hate for the thing beneath him. “That your family is too important? News flash you stupid son of a bitch – you already lost your family!” 

Savagely he ground his hips against the firm ass beneath him. Years of self-hate drove his penetrating thrusts as deeply as they could go. “You’ve got nothing. You are nothing!” 

His fist slammed against the tabletop inches from his younger self’s face. He’d smash his own skull in if he thought it would help, if he thought it would change what he had let happen. But it wouldn’t. The only thing that could fix this was him going back and doing this right. What was one more sacrifice anyway? 

“Sam, he left you, Dean. Every damn chance he got. The only one who has ever cared about you, is you, and take it from one who knows...” The table groaned from the intensity of his hammering movements. The younger man beneath him did the same. “Even I never really cared about you...us...me. Get over yourself.” 

Dean reached his hand down to grab the cock of his younger self. It pressed hard against the soft, pink fabric of the panties that still encased it. He left it there, manipulating the balls and shaft through the material in all the ways he knew drove himself wild. Despite the pain he knew he was ripping into him, the younger man’s moans took on a tone of desperate pleasure. He knew. Those were his sounds. 

“This is what you are. A body to be used and you’re damn well gonna let Michael use it because, this...it’s too big. We fucked everything else up, but we can’t fuck this up too.” 

He felt the trembling in his younger self’s thighs, knew the feel of his cock right before release. The movements of his fingers sped up, stroking mercilessly until he felt the spurting pulses, could feel the sticky mess soaking through the panties. The orgasm a moment later flowed over him as if it was an extension of the one his younger self was still riding. 

When he collapsed on top of himself the tears washing down his cheeks slowly registered. He knew they were mirrored on the cheeks of the man beneath him. They were both that pathetic and in the end, it didn’t matter. They’d never get it right. 

The man beneath him was struggling to drag air into his lungs around the foul tasting fabric of the cloth. It wouldn’t help anything if he asphyxiated himself before he could say yes. It was safe to remove the gag. He knew he wouldn’t have the energy to make too much of a fuss and it wasn’t like he’d call someone in here to see him like this. To see him for what he really was. 

A moment later, he even undid the cuffs because he knew he wouldn’t run. For a long moment his younger self just laid there across the table, arms limp at his side and scrunched up panties still hugging his thighs. Finally the younger man pushed up, nearly falling to the ground as he stumbled away from the table. 

Sinking to his knees, breath ragged, the man slowly drew his eyes up to look at him. Dean had never seen so much pain in another person. He knew he might as well be looking into a mirror. The man kneeling before him could cry all he wanted. Even he didn’t care enough to comfort himself, not knowing what was at stake, not knowing first hand how worthless the man on the ground was. 

“You’re right, you know,” the raspy voice told him. “About everything...” 

Reluctantly he finished his own sentence, “but it doesn’t change anything.” Suffocating desperation again settled over him. His only chance to fix this – all he had to do was convince himself and he couldn’t even do that. “You’ll fail. You’ll try to save them all and we’ll fail.” 

“I know, but I still have to try.”


End file.
